


The Hunt and The Hunted

by BeautifulTendencies



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, I Don't Even Know, Monsters who hunt at carnivals, The Game, don't judge me I wrote this three years ago, mentions of prostitution and gambling and illegal substances, psychological shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 06:55:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5281049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautifulTendencies/pseuds/BeautifulTendencies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A monster and a girl play cat and mouse, but which is which?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hunt and The Hunted

**Author's Note:**

> Well, please enjoy. And try not to be too harsh.

She ran through the carnival, twisting her head quickly back to check on the progress of her assailant. He was gaining on her, and she tried to push herself faster, but her full skirts hindered her movements. He was close enough now for her to feel his breath on the back of her neck, but she only had to make it a few more steps. His hand grasped for her hair, but only succeeded in briefly tugging at the ribbon holding her mask on. She burst through the entrance to the fortune teller’s tent, under the string of garlic that hung above the door, and yanked the hidden lever that opened a trap door beneath her feet. The trap door closed automatically behind her as she shot down the six-foot vertical drop, landing on her feet for a moment, then falling backwards heavily, her monstrously frilly skirt helping to cushion her backside. From the brief glance around the tent that she had before she dropped down the passage, she knew the fortune teller was in, tidying her tent. She would have been concerned for her, but she knew that he probably wouldn’t hurt her. It seemed that he had his eyes set only on her tonight. She doubted that the fortune teller would help her, though, against him. No one would be able to help.

She should be safe enough for now, the fortune teller had spells on that lever to prevent it from being used by those who weren't told about it by her directly, and the only ones she told were the women permanently stationed at the carnival and likely to be harassed. Even her opponent, strong as he was, wouldn’t be able to mess with that kind of magic. She guessed that he wouldn’t bother trying, though. He knew he only had to wait for her to find him again. The game would be flipping again soon. She quickly removed her pinching shoes from her aching feet before she couldn’t think straight, as she knew from recently gained experience would happen in the next minute or so. This was her third escape tonight, and the closest call by far. She knew that he had let her get away. She wouldn’t have been able to make it five feet from him if he were actually trying, even just a little. She thought it was probably because he wouldn’t want to lose his pray this early into the night. She was intertwined in the ever shifting game of cat and mouse with him, and she knew that there would probably a number more chases tonight.

Standing, she put a hand on her now aching tailbone, and carefully brushed off her royal blue skirts and bodice, carefully avoiding the delicate gold and silver glass beads that she had hand-sewn onto the dress. She adjusted her matching mask, and strode purposefully, if a little stiffly, off into the dark underground passageway. She had no need for light, she knew it like the back of her hand. She had used it many times before in escaping various trouble, varying from a rampaging elephant to a particularly handsy man. In sixty-three steps, it would fork, the left leading to the inside of her own tent, among others, the right off circus grounds.

The carnival was a permanent fixture just outside the Western edge of the city, and the center of a bustling criminal enterprise. Although they did have acrobats, lion-tamers, and other circus attractions, their main attraction was the illicit gambling tables, prostitutes, and dealings in certain goods that the law didn’t exactly smile on. She wasn’t a part of any of that, but she also wasn’t a law abiding citizen. Actually, she wasn’t a citizen at all, but her boss looked the other way about her secret if she did the same for his. As the magician’s assistant, she knew a little more than she wanted to about his dealings in underground substances. She also knew, as a rule, he didn’t try any of what he dealt, and she followed his example. She had seen too much of what that stuff could do to people.

She had just finished her show about an hour ago, which meant she wouldn’t be missed for the next two hours while the back business was continued. Even when it was noticed that she was missing, she didn’t expect the magician to bother to look for her, it would only be a minor annoyance. He probably would just ask his girlfriend, the contortionist, who would be off duty to fill in. She hadn't been here long enough for anyone to even begin to give a fuck about what happened to her, and then she would just be one of the many dozens of girls who disappeared nightly from the carnival, to perhaps be later found washed up on a beach somewhere.

She closed her eyes, as having them open didn’t make a dent in the dark before her, and recounted earlier events, wondering for the thousandth time at things she could have done differently.

She was enjoying people watching in the lion tamer’s audience when she saw him. He stood at the fringes of the crowd. A blind need to be near him filled her, to the point where she couldn’t think straight. Her foot took a small step towards him without her permission. Only black magic and love could create this kind of pull, and she was fairly certain that love at first sight didn’t exist. She knew what he was, and internally prepared herself for whatever was to come.

From his look, you wouldn’t think he was dangerous. He looked like any other man at the carnival. He had a thin, muscular frame covered with a satin suit. The upper half of his face was obscured by a black mask, and his shoes were highly polished. He would have blended right in if not for a few things. Although not obviously someone to take notice of, he oozed power. People near him shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his gaze. He wasn’t watching the act, but the audience, and hungrily. She knew how to handle herself in a fight, she would have died long ago if she didn’t, and she had added a few surprises of various kinds hidden on her person since her last one, but she was not a fool to think any of them would do any good. Not against his kind. Her only hope was to sneak up on him, since she couldn’t move her feet away from him, but if he was calling her, odds were that he already knew where she was. 

She had no fucking idea of how he had managed to get past the wards on the gate against his kind, among the other dark races, but it wasn’t exactly her immediate problem. She doubted that she would live to tell anyone that he was here, and expected that if he had enough power to avoid massacring everyone in sight and managed to get into the establishment somehow, he probably knew enough not to take another victim from here for maybe another fifty years (underground carnies lives were remarkably short). No one else had noticed him, undoubtedly his own doing, and she knew if she even tried to move her feet off the ground to sound the alarm, she would end up running full sprint towards him. She opened her mouth to see if she could at least yell for help, but her vocal cords weren't working. He was incredibly powerful, and she was incredibly screwed.

Her mother had had a saying, before she died from drowning herself in drink, “If you are going down that hill one way or another, you might as well do it standing, proudly, instead of sliding down on your face”. 

Slowly, one foot in front of the other, she began to walk towards him. He noticed immediately her unwillful track closing the already small distance between them. He gave her a carnivore's smile, and she saw that his canines were elongated, and that behind the black mask he hid blood red eyes. When she broke through to his empty space surrounding him, close enough to brush against his side, the pull snapped. Time seemed to stop. She was empty of emotion, rooted to the ground beside him. The sounds of the carnival receded to background noise.

“I’m going to die tonight aren't I?” she said.

“Yes,” he replied, his voice melodious and hypnotic. “But not just yet.”

“Well then,” she said calmly, “fuck you, you infantilized, ass swigging, panty sniffer. Someone ought to castrate you with a chainsaw, but I’m afraid your dick’s so tiny they may just end up--”

All of a sudden, the world bent back to it’s previous way, and she became pray for the first time that night. The pull gone, she turned and ran, him close behind her.

The second and third times she had drawn close to him, she hadn’t bothered speaking in the moment in between the switch between hunter and prey. It would do no good to plead for her life, or attempt to make a deal. He had certainly not gained his power by granting mercy. This did not stop him from talking to her.

“Not yet, lovely,” he said each time. “Not yet.”

 

He had let her get away, after what he deemed a suitable amount of chasing and she was short of breath, lungs and thighs burning, but after a moment in safety, she felt the uncontrollable draw to him again. It was her turn to hunt. She felt his presence, and knew exactly where he was, but she had a feeling he didn’t know where she was. He was calling her to him. It would have ruined his fun to know where she was. 

It hardly mattered how he had done it, but he must cased her earlier, as he would have had to touch her in order to call her to him in this way. She knew his game. He was giving her a chance to kill him and save herself while still ensuring that she didn’t leave all together. She wasn’t a vampire hunter, And she reviewed for the millionth time what she knew. 

Garlic was just a superstition, and every time she had gotten close enough to use a stake, he moved too quickly for her to stab him in the heart. She was proud, though it would do little, of her most recent attempt, which had scraped up the left side of his chest before his cold hand grabbed her wrist and stopped her. He had given her the tiniest smile and chuckled in her ear.

She was getting better, although she was certain he would never allow her to win this game. The only other weakness of his kind was sunlight, but there was no hope that he would keep playing his game until the sun rose. The only way she was ever going to win this game was to not play, but she didn’t quite have the courage of facing her eventual death so soon. 

Cynically, she had to respect him. It was designed flawlessly, as she was sure he would not chose a victim who had any real chance of winning. He was in control. And as soon as he tired of his game, she would die.

The pull took hold again, and she turned left to began her hunt again.

**Author's Note:**

> So that happened.


End file.
